


Amour Fou

by Missy



Category: Gone With the Wind
Genre: F/M, Gunplay, Guns, Love/Hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 22:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhett won't turn Scarlett out..</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amour Fou

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle

Rhett should have guessed the inevitability of the outcome of leaving Scarlett O’Hara. Another woman would simper and plead him to return; another might pray. Scarlett O’Hara would charge into your townhouse and kick down the door. 

“We must meet under calmer circumstances,” he said dryly, while she waved her pistol under his nose and demanded that he return with her to Tara.

“The sheep are dying, my horses are sick, I can’t find anyone to help me with the harvest and by GOD, you’re going to do your husbandly duty and shoulder your part of the burden or I’ll have you horsewhipped by every circuit court in Georgia!”

Rhett silently wrenched her wrist behind her. “Once a man like me makes up his mind he’s no liable to change it, Scarlett, or don’t you remember the way I walked out on you in Atlanta?”

“That was a different…”

“You should try sweetening your words before you spit them out,” he retorted. 

She slapped him with her free hand.

Rhett grasped her by the waist and whirled her about, until they were pressed hard to the wall. He knew the easiest way to make her pliant and biddable and kissed her silent, until she dropped the pistol to the ground and wrapped her arms around his neck.

His hands were large and warm, and in spite of his callous words Scarlett was hot and soft when he slid a finger within her. SHE wanted him – would always want his lips and the hungry look in his eyes.

“You’re not turning me out,” she declared, pinning him to the wall as his fingers plunged roughly into her sheathe under the miles of organdy she wore. 

“No,” he said dryly, as she hauled her dress over her head to make room for his eager, greedy hands to lift her onto his shaft. “I can’t turn away what I love, whether it’s an ill-tempered Irishwoman or a fine glass of brandy.”

“Oh Rhett!” she was breathless in her stays.

“I’ll be damned for it, but I do,” he grunted, and thrust himself into the core of the woman who would be his bliss, his doom, for his remaining years.


End file.
